


Within Your Heart I'll Place The Moon

by Crescense



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescense/pseuds/Crescense
Summary: Sarah dreams of Jareth in a field of snow 12 years after solving the Labyrinth. This is not the first of such dreams.





	Within Your Heart I'll Place The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Originally posted on. FF.net.
> 
> Jareth's scent is based on the official Labyrinth oil blend available here:  
> https://blackphoenixalchemylab.com/shop/beloved-favorites/jareth/
> 
> Please share any thoughts you may have.

~•●•~

* * *

November 16th, 1998

As she walked, Sarah could not recall where her steps had previously taken her, she simply continued onward, exiting the secluded cover of a forest for an open field. Before her was an endless stretch of snow, untouched and glistening as though in its incandescence it contained constellations to mirror and rival the heavens above.

Strong winds carried the surface dustings of snow as if desert sands. Sarah magnetically watched as they were in long flowing waves sent to the distant shadows and black outlines of trees. Areas she would never know. With the thought of their winding and aimless paths came feelings of isolation and sorrow. An imagined howl of the wind, the echo of empty caves.

Around the pearl of a full moon, visible within its frame of pacing clouds, was a silvery halo, and the field was lit with it as though with sunlight. As she looked away from the moon and again to the field of snow, she found him. Without shadow, Jareth stood of the stars and winter; of all of nature's grace and fury.

His hair was touched by hoarfrost, glittering with it. Wordlessly he walked to her, entered her life again through midnight depths. A simple drawing of the curtains between their worlds.

Sarah felt the joints in her knees as they bent, placing her steps. They were stiff from overuse. The snow was the same as sun-warmed sand to her bare feet. The air was without chill. Her movements, the moment, didn't feel real. Her breath caught in her throat, the beat of her heart sped to match her expectations; her silent hopes. Hopes she'd never even allowed herself to voice in the quiet of her room. To say aloud unanswered, unlived dreams was to alert others of their presence and possibly have them stolen with as little as an inhale from the unseen. Long ago, she learned to be guarded with what escaped her mind and heart.

She could see the shimmer of his skin on the areas left uncovered. All the colors of a sunset, the shell of a bubble, were dusted upon him as if with fairy powder. And he was the definition of beauty and seduction.

As she looked in them, his eyes revealed more than he intended. He was completely open to her. They contained warmth, conceit, sensuality, humor; something that she couldn't identify. It simultaneously repelled Sarah and drew her in.

It never deterred her.

When they were a foot apart, she stopped. He didn't, not at first. It took a moment for him to register what had transpired, as though he were under a spell. There was no need nor the ability for words, not with the other so close. Sarah heard the snow fall around them, the wind, the soft rustle of his hair. Jareth grinned, tilted his head. His hands rested on his hips. His teeth were visible from beneath his parted lips.

His natural stance a display. Arrogance radiated from him the same as steam, an aura, touching those near. It was always as though he'd freshly emerged from a bath, his skin completely saturated with hubris. He was never without a mask.

Her skin, the pale cover over her bones, over her arms, neck, shoulders, her decolletage, was bared to him, known by him. The rest of her was as unveiled to him as the sun's core, and he was keenly aware that his dreams would never compete with reality. Not when it came to Sarah.

How he ached for those dreams to be realized in flesh. Years and years he's ached for want, sensing it wind about his being as ivy and stain him, as abandoned structures are stained by neglect. So much time had passed. And he waited, alone. Watching the years end and begin anew, afraid that his love would never be returned.

Sarah stood before him in little more than an ivory slip dress. Her hair was loose and beyond her shoulders, straight and dotted with small gems. Her lips were a deep red, the shadows around her eyes a subtle and smokey violet.

Jareth was bared for her as well. No cloak, no coat. Only a matching ensemble of an off-white vest, trousers and open shirt. Lace about his neck and wrists. Cream colored knee-high boots. He did not break contact with her eyes.

She'd been wrong about her will being as strong as his. It was far stronger, for she barely noted his state of dress aside from the deep V at his breast, the lace. Unlike him, whose mind was reeling. He was the first to speak, saying only her name as if it were an incantation alive with its own magic.

"Sarah."

His voice was firm in the silent storm, as if whispered directly in her ears. He practiced the same dance as in the Underground, moving to encircle, then standing so close behind her she could take in his scent, of which only a few notes could she place; lilac and white musk. She felt her pulse quicken. The want to sink to the floor and be covered by his weight, give herself over to him, was overwhelming. Her legs did not seem capable of providing support.

She willed him to come closer still. _Please_ , she begged in her mind, with the closing of her eyes. He acted on her voiceless command, slipping by her softly, calmly. Sarah gradually found the base of his neck. Stroking the bones there, she felt his long hair brush over the back of her hand, soft and cold. The same as his clothes, as though he alone endured the truth of the season. His hands came to rest on her warm bare shoulders.

From her lips to the cavity between her ribs, her envisioned lungs were a point of focus, and it was over this chasm she wanted to feel the warmth of his lips, the sharpness of his teeth. The pull of his fingers. She could already feel the phantom of that desire play as if pins in her flesh.

One of her hands was seized by his and something metal was slipped inside. She opened her palm to the moon. In her grasp was a pendant. Its body was labradorite, carved in the shape of a lily. Silver framed it, creating its elegant leaves and stalk. Delicate patterns were etched along its side which appeared to comprise a form of writing.

"Sarah, I give you the night sky in the body of a flower. That is how much you mean to me."

Sarah moved the necklace to her left hand, feeling the chain slip over her fingers. It was cold as well. She didn't want to look at it. She knew she would want to keep it were she to carefully examine it. Just the glimpse of it had been enough to tell her to quickly seal it away from sight. It truly appeared to contain the darkened sky which held the moon above them.

"I can't accept it."

He turned his head. His mouth formed a word he did not speak, though his eyes, always vocal, said it for him. Her reply was to him no surprise. He gasped inside, sighed inside. "The pain and thrill of our past reaches deep, and yet you continue to stroke the wounds within me. Your nimble fingers know my weakest spots. You feel my pain even now, Sarah, don't you?" His voice was sullen.

She said nothing. She didn't wish to acknowledge the cruel truth. She felt his pain along with her own. At the moment there was much mingled within her, a cauldron billowing smoke. He perceived that as well, and it irritated her that he was so intuitive. A telepathist with his crystal ball. Over and under his hand. In its womb was her future, her past, this precise moment. How she wished she could discover a way to steal a crystal from him, spy on him from the confines of her room. See him slip from that vat of torment, that hot spring of confidence. Turn the scene over, play it again behind her eyes.

"We are inseparable. One day you'll just have to accept it; I am yours."

He leaned forward, and as the side of his face pressed against hers, Sarah awoke to a blackened room, the walls of which she could feel rather than see. She inhaled the close and familiar air, something inside her sinking as she came to realize that it had happened again. It was all a dream. She reached over to her nightstand and turned on her lamp. One of her hands was in a fist, the knuckles white. She did not dare to believe only as she released her grip. Inside the prison of her hand was the pendant.

The side of her face was cold as she stroked it.

* * *

~•●•~


End file.
